


Titanic (Stucky) AU

by Captain_stucky_17



Category: AU - Fandom, Stucky - Fandom, Titanic
Genre: AU, Gen, M/M, Stucky - Freeform, Titanic - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-06-05 07:10:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6694636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_stucky_17/pseuds/Captain_stucky_17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>|| My own idea of how it would have went! haha. I hope you guys enjoy it, it's slowly coming but I'm doing my best. :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Somebody's Life's About to Change

**Author's Note:**

> || My own idea of how it would have went! haha. I hope you guys enjoy it, it's slowly coming but I'm doing my best. :)

April 10th of 1912. Arriving perfectly early, exiting the coach, Steve watched over his mother as she sternly directed the porter stacking their luggage on a cart to be taken to their rooms. Adjusting his highly uncomfortable suit he glanced up to the sun beaming down in a way that allowed no enjoyment. For the First Class passengers that dressed in many layers, it was obvious to anyone that the men stood closer to their wives whom fanned away at their flushed faces. 

  Turning then, Steve gazed up to the large ship he would be boarding. The R.M.S. Titanic, set to sail the Atlantic, planned to arrive in New York April 17th, a week’s time in hopes to set a record of some kind. The ship was deemed unsinkable, its enormous size and speed alone topped the charts. The beauty of it was, of course glorious. Though, to Steve it was a slave ship, taking him back to America in chains. He was everything a well brought up man was supposed to be. But inside…he was screaming.

  “I don’t understand…It doesn’t look any bigger than the Mauretania…” Steve added, as his to-be fiancé gawked in ‘aww’ of the ship to her parents. 

  “You can be captious to some things boy! But not to Titanic. It’s over 100 feet longer than the Mauretania and far more luxurious!” Mr Abbott exclaimed, his wife patted his shoulder to calm him. “Ruth, your son does not mix with machinery.”  

Gripped then, firmly by his arm, Steve’s mother grit her teeth whilst speaking to his ear, “Steve. Darling, use this trip to your advantage, win her heart?” 

  His gaze shifted to Sarah and then her father Mr. Abbott. “Her heart, or her father’s? After all mother, it is their money you—“ 

  She yanked him strictly, unable to properly scorn him. Steve rolled his eyes and gave a huff. She then swooshed her way over to the Abbott family, her large green hat shading her of the sun as Mr. Abbott fought the light to see her. “If you would be so kind as to lead the way with your wife, the porters have already taken our luggage.” 

  “Gladly!”   

Sarah smiled shyly to Steve in the way she often did, leaving out many words that her gentle eyes spoke. In that way, the two did get along, they let their parents do all the speaking, make all the decisions. Taking his arm, the two then followed after their parents, boarding the enormous ship set to sail in less than fifteen minutes.

   ***** ******* ******** ******** ******** *********** ************ ************** 

At a bar just across the street from the dock. Four men sitting at a table, just to the end of their third poker game. All was on the table. Two boys poorer than their parents, and two men poor but in their possession they had two tickets to board the R.M.S. Titanic. Those same tickets now on a betting table.

  The two German men argued to themselves in their own speak of tongue. The one having bet the tickets to win the last hand.   

Peter leaned towards his friend, his own cards drawing sweat from his temple as he looked to the rest of their money on the table, “Bucky, you bet everything we have.” 

  Bucky pulled the cigarette from his lips, responding back with ease, “When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose.” 

Returning his cigarette to his mouth, Bucky dealt out the last set. Observing the nervous faces on the men, even Peter beside him. “Alright, moment of truth. Somebody’s life’s about to change…Peter?” Bucky nodded to his hand of cards.  

Glaring back to Bucky, he slapped his cards down face up. “Niente.” 

  “Olaf?” And again. “Nothing.”   

“Sven?” Oh shit, “Two pair…”   

Gripping his own cards, Bucky shook his head, looking to Peter waiting on his friend’s hand. “I’m sorry, Peter.”   

“You bet all our money for nothing!— 

  “I’m sorry Peter! You’re not gonna see your mother for a very long time.” Bucky hesitated, a grin forming on his mouth as he slammed his cards down face up on the table, “Cause we’re going to America! Full house, boys! Woohoo!” He cheered loudly, scooping up the ticket papers as Peter yelled with excitement, scooping the money into one of their bags.

  Standing up to help Peter scoop up the money, Sven and Olaf reeked of defeat and Olaf stood speaking in rough German as he took Bucky by the collar. Squeezing his eyes shut as he readied himself for the punch, he stumbled back when the German’s fist pounded into Sven’s face instead. Giving an abrupt burst of laugher, Bucky and Peter hugged and danced, gripping the tickets with joy. “I’m going home!” Kissing the tickets, the English boy cheered, “I’m finally going to America!” 

  Calling over the two friends excitement, the bartender tossed his hand towel over his shoulder, pointing to the clock above the bar, “No, mate! Titanic leave’s for America in five minutes!” Chuckling, the man had humored himself. 

  “Shit.” Bucky cursed under his breath. Quickly gathering their things, scooping the rest of the coins off the table into their pockets, along with half the deck of cards.   

Racing down the busy street, their duffel bags over their shoulders. Pushing passed the people waiting for the boat to leave, Bucky yelled over the crowd, “We’re riding in high style now! We’re a couple of regular swells! We’re practically God damn royalty!”   

Passing the waving people, they nearly tripped into a stagecoach, the horses stepping sideways against the boys movements until they had decided their direction again. Peter on Bucky’s heels as they were heading up the sidewalk from the boats line up. “I can’t believe I’m going to America, Bucky!”   

“Come on! I thought you were fast!” Bucky laughed breathlessly, as he ran ahead of the English boy nearly two years younger than him. 

  “You’re crazy!”   

“Maybe, but I’ve got tickets!” He grinned, ducking under people as they raced to the boarding ramp, “Hey! Wait! We’re passengers!”   

Right behind him, Peter pulled the papers from his pocket, handing them to Bucky to hand over to the ticket taker.   “Have you been through the inspections?”   “Of course.” Bucky replied, doing his best to pull a straight face. “Anyways, we don't have any lice, we’re Americans, both of us.” He gestured to Peter, swallowing hard.   “Right. Come aboard.” The man motioned for them to enter.   

Jumping past the threshold, Bucky turned as soon as Peter came stumbling in behind him. Running again, the boys pushed past the other passengers assembling themselves and their things. Doing their best to find their cabin on the ship. With Third Class tickets in their possession, the boys racing down the hall and up a flight of stairs.   

“We’re the luckiest sons-of-bitches, you know that?!” Bucky exclaimed, smiling wider than his mouth could allow as Peter pushed him away, smiling as well while trying to make his way through the people on deck.   

Finding a space just to the front of the ship, they dropped their duffels against the railing, and looked down to the men loosening the ropes and the cheering people, waving to the ship about to leave for its voyage. 

  Starting to wave with the others, Bucky yelled, “Goodbye! Goodbye!” 

  “Do you know somebody?” Peter waved some, looking up to his friend.   

Highly spirited, Bucky laughed, “No! But, thats not the point!” Waving again, “Goodbye! I’ll miss you!”   

Laughing as well, Peter caught on, “Goodbye! I will never forget you!” 

The sight was beyond beautiful. The smiles, the laughs, the scene of the enormous ship was passed anyones experience even aboard. The R.M.S. Titanic was the ship of dreams and it was, it really was.  


	2. The Difference Between Her Taste & Mine

The First Class members were settling in. The Abbott’s family having taken up the connecting room to the Roger’s, Steve’s ability to keep calm was on edge. The servants put away the clothes from the suitcases and as the next cart arrived, Steve jumped for it before his mother. “I can manage the artwork, mother.” Steve insisted, nearly removing her hand from the picture frame. She gave a shake of her head and swooshed her hand, casually untying the string to her enormous headwear to remove it. Lifting out each painting as he went, Steve lined them against the sofa. Pursing his lips as to decide where each would go. Consisting of only three: a kitchen scene, fruit on the table along with the morning paper. The ocean, a woman taking her first swim, and then the city, New York. A place he had so many memories in, a place he dreaded to return, despite it’s beauty. Stiffening suddenly as a feminine arm curled around his, he lowered his gaze to his fiancé. “I do have to admit, Steve…I don't like these types of artwork.” She stated flatly, her taste more on the greek art level. When Ms. Rogers let out a breath, Steve shot his mother a threatening look. She knew very well they were his paintings and that no one knew of his hobby. Also, that he wanted to keep the secret as long as it could withstand. And so, she kept her mouth shut once again. “Any form of art I love…It’s a fancy of mine…” Steve began slowly, smiling warmly just talking about it, “…The beauty in art, you have the ability to — “I don’t see it.” Mr. Abbott interrupted, giving a scoff. The cigar at the corner of his mouth having been chewed on half the trip. Steve bit his tongue, simply giving a humored look to Sarah. Feeling of her fingers starting to play against his wrist, a hollow sensation going through his core. Even with his want to comfort her need, he didn’t carry the feelings she was requesting of him. Easing his arm free, he stepped aside, taking one of the paintings to his room. Releasing a shaky breath there, hidden from the others, an ache striking through his body. Stress. Could he go on this way? Could he summon the ability to live a lie to save his mother of their misfortune? Or perhaps, of the empty banking account his father had left them with? Or would he break… —“Is this, Steve’s?” It was Sarah’s voice breaking the silence for him. A fear hitting him then like a battering ram. His face flooded a pale white and he rushed to the main room, knowing very well what she was referring to. Snatching the booklet quickly from her hands, she gasped and he laughed dryly. “Forgive me, its—my notes, for the wedding, you see.” He nodded nervously, tucking it under his arm. She stared at him for a moment without words, her eyes going over him. Giving a faint smile she then turned to join her mother in their room. Taking a drink of his wine, Mr. Abbott gave a huff, “Shall we leave the rest to the servants and meet for lunch?” “That would be delightful!” His wife added in agreement. “Well then, give us a moment to dress, and we shall see you in the dinning room.” Steve’s mother spoke humbly, handing her hat off to the maid. Steve returned to his room afterward, as if to get dressed. Though, he took a moment for himself. Sitting just at the edge of his bed, he opened the booklet carefully. Gazing over the sheets of drawing paper, he swallowed hard at the thought of someone having seen them. His brow furrowed, his eyes beginning to sting. Using the tips of his fingers, they traced the black lines of the art, the shape of a man upon the paper. Half dressed, the fellow laid in a mixture of sheets open a mattress. Turning the page. He looked over the next, two men lying with one another, lovers if you would allow yourself to assume it. The way they held each other. The way Steve dreamt of being held. Though, if the truth were to arise, a formal beating or death were the only solution to these things, the only formal correction to a ‘perverted man’. Closing the booklet quickly, angered with himself for keeping the drawings. Wiping his eyes roughly, stuffing the booklet under his mattress, he shook his head. Questioning himself again, why did he feel these things? Sarah meant him no harm and if he were to touch any woman it would have been her. Yet, that question answered itself. That was the difference between her taste and his. The marriage felt forced, the physical connection was forced. Even at the beginning go his twenties Steve knew all too well, the only intimate interaction he wanted was from a man. Standing to get ready, he put on a face, combing back his hair and clearing his throat. He would make it through. If it was all he could do, he would marry Sarah, for his inner self was nothing but corrupted and twisted. His mind was a mess, but he could live the lie, he could choke on his means to honor his mother. ************** ************* Seated in the dining area, the quiet chatter of gossip and planned speeches, proper use of words and character obvious in the air, if only each individual whom played the game were aware of how ridiculous they sounded. Each moment, a lie to who they really were. “Steve, my good man…I must tell you…you are one of the quietest men I’ve ever met.” This was one of the many observations Mr. Abott had made while they were eating. Steve lifted his gaze from his food. Looking first to his mother then to Mr. Bruce Ismay, the chairman of the R.M.S. Titanic. They had just finished discussing the reason for the name of the enormous ship. Thomas Andrews stayed seated next to Mr. Abott, the architect who aided in designing the beautiful ship which carried them through the sea. “Pardon me, I must have a lot on my mind.” He gave a smile which echoed how withdrawn he was from the conversation. A displeased look spreading across Mr. Abott’s face before the man returned to the conversation with the other ‘men’ at the table. A rush of emotions flooded Steve’s mind. Setting down his silverware, he wiped his mouth, taking in a deep breath before pardoning himself officially, “Excuse me for a moment.” He stood slowly, making a calm yet, abrupt stride towards the balcony. Letting go of a shaky breath he had been holding in, his eyes stung and he blinked furiously to hold back the hopelessness that seemed to be crashing down on him. When suddenly, a hand slid generously over his arm. It was truly harmless, but he jerked away from it, knowing the lifeless feeling behind the gesture all too well. He left his mother standing there to only have no choice but to follow him back inside. He would look at her heartless eyes later and deal with her comments then on how he should be presenting himself. **************** **************** ****************** ******************* ************ Dropping their bags off at their room, Peter and Bucky then made their way back to the deck area. The side marked off for the Third Class members seemed to be full of everyone still trying to take in the magnificent size of the ship they were sailing aboard. Peter and Bucky took a seat near the railing, the soft, cool breeze of the evening tossing Bucky’s hair a bit, cooling him off from the sun. Everyone watched the youngsters having at one another for fun. Smiling widely, Bucky took a seat beside Peter taking in a long breath. “Who would’ve thought?” He chuckled at Peter, shrugging a bit. —“Smoke?” Looking up, kindly taking the cigarette from the Irish fellow. His curls coming out from under his worn out Bowler atop of his head. “Thanks.” Bucky, slipped the cigarette between his lips, letting the man touch the tip with a lit match before lighting Peter’s as well. “What’s ye name?” “Bucky and this is my friend Peter.” Shaking hands lightly, “Yours?” “It’s good ta meet cha.” Crossing his arms he leaned back to a stack of box crates. “Tommy.” Nodding in response, Bucky glanced to Peter attempting to make it appear as though it was his profession at smoking only his fourth cigarette in his entire life. Was it the sun catching his eyes? Or was he looking on his own. Something had surely summoned his attention, perhaps fate or perhaps a destiny he couldn’t shake. A destiny he was so oblivious to. He squinted through the sun, his hair messing with his vision as well. Tilting his head, he looked over a fellow close to his own age, making his way out to the balcony above the deck. The First Class area had gathered for dinner by now, what was the matter with this fellow? He looked distraught, confused and possibly hurt. Shaking his head, he leaned to the balcony edge letting out a sigh. His blonde layers fell and — “Ah, lad yer more likely to have angels fly out of yer arse before you make it up there with them.” Tommy chuckled, taking notice to Bucky’s staring. Breaking gaze from Tommy, his eyes returned to the blonde fellow, Bucky shrugging before he spoke to play it off, “No harm in dreaming?” The two laughed, but his attention returned to the fellow on the balcony, just as a woman met his side starting to touch his arm just as the man moved away from it, swiftly returning inside, the woman following along after him with a cold look in her eyes of judgement.


	3. I Saw My Life As If I'd Already Lived It

Chapter Three: I Saw My Whole Life As If I’d Already Lived It

 

It was later that evening, the sun had set and all of the First Class passengers were enjoying their dinner within the enormous dining area. It’s gorgeous walls freshly painted, the silverware hardly used and every waiter formerly attended each and every table. Yet, with a room filled with so many different passengers, whom had come from so many different places to voyage across the Atlantic on this beautiful man-made ship — all of them were completely the same.

Seated amongst the people, with Sarah next to him; Steve was dazed. His eyes gazed off into the unknown, to everyone else he was simply staring uninterested at the plate which held his dinner. A rush of bitter emotions had filled him, though they weren't the kind that sent him off on a tyrant, they were more shattered, much too frail to be exposed in front of all these people. 

His very thoughts amounted to “…This is my whole life…I have lived it. An endless parade of parties and cotillions, yachts and polo matches. Always the same narrow people, the same mindless chatter. As if I were somehow standing at a great precipice….with no one to pull me back, no one who cared…or even noticed…” 

His eyes began to sting, and he abruptly pushed away from the table, a gasp coming out of Sarah’s mouth beside him when he stood. Steve must have managed some sort of pardon, for once he had turned away from the table and quickened his pace, there was no hand that came to seize him or voice of worry that called after. 

A great amount of weight had fallen on him. Or only now had he come to truly feel the burden he had been carrying all this time and with no one to help and no strength left to bare it alone, it was too much. Too much to go on fighting with, when all he wanted now was a release of the pain, of the heart-wrenching struggle he had been going along with. 

Running, half stumbling across the deck of the ship, he was headed towards the stern. The night hid the beauty of the creature which everyone had fallen in love with and left only the tired faces, the dull senseless music in the background and the chill in the air, the tears streaking down his face now felt only of ice. Accidentally tripping into a middle-aged couple, their obnoxious gasps and complaints changed Steve’s directions none. He pushed on even when other heads turned in astonishment to his actions. 

Finally crashing into a pole just beside one of the many benches, he was gasping for air from the run. His breaths were more like panting now and he was struggling to even keep from falling down when suddenly the sound of the ocean echoed in his ears. The propellers just at the end of the boat sliced through the water, sending beautiful white-foaming waves off behind the ship. Glancing back behind himself to find no one there, he inched forward, sliding off his suit jacket, his father’s watch rolling out of the inner pocket as it plummeted to the deck. 

His hands met the ice-cold railing, his fingers trembling as they took hold of the pipe above and as he hoisted himself up and over his throat began to swell. The tears were drying now on his face and his breathing had begun to slow into gulps for air. Taking one last glance over the ship, his hands clenching on so tightly whilst he turned his body to face the waves, staring off into the blackness. His mind wondering just how long it would take before all he felt was the cold water filling his lungs and he could be free of everything. 

— “Don’t do it.” A soft yet urgent voice requested behind him. 

Turning with a jerk to look over his shoulder, Steve’s voice shook, “Stay back! Don't come any closer!” 

Inching forward slowly, persistent, the stranger held out his hand, “Come on. Just give me your hand, I’ll pull you back over.” 

— “No! Stay where you are!” Steve exclaimed, hesitantly moving his eyes back to the water, “I mean it. I’ll let go.” 

Shooting a look over his shoulder, Steve saw the man gesture to throw his cigarette, taking one last smoke before tossing it over the rails and into the water where he would soon be himself. The stranger must have been from the Third Class, for his jacket alone looked unkempt and possibly needed stitches in four or five places, his slacks were wrinkled and the boots on his feet were missing a shoe lace, for they hadn’t been polished in years. 

“No you won’t.” The stranger gave a hesitant look of discord, sliding his hands into his pockets as if to remain calm. 

Steve’s brow furrowed and he felt his emotions boil. “What do you mean, no I won’t? Don’t presume to tell me what I will and will not do. You don’t know me.” 

Showing his indecision, the stranger gave a shrug, “Well, you would’ve done it already.” 

Shaking his head, Steve breathed out, “You’re distracting me. Go away.” He nearly pleaded in frustration. 

“I can’t.” The man argued still, calm but intent. “I’m involved now. You let go, and I’m going to have to jump in there after you.” He unbuttoned his coat, taking it off and dropping it at his feet before starting on his shoe laces.

“Don’t be absurd. You’ll be killed.” Steve stammered, his eyes watching the man loosen his boots. 

— “Im a good swimmer.” 

“The fall alone will kill you.” Steve chuckled breathlessly, his voice still shaking. 

“It would hurt. I’m not saying it wouldn’t.” He yanked at his boot, finally removing the one and setting it down by his jacket. “To tell you the truth…I’m a lot more concerned about that water being so cold.” He added, going at his second boot. 

“How cold…?” Steve merely whispered, trying to seem uninterested as his hands tightened the slightest bit more on the railing.

“Freezing. Maybe a couple degrees over.” Sliding his hands back into his pockets, the man eased the slightest bit closer to Steve.

Steve started to stare off into the distance, his mind falling blank again. The emotions that had sprung a leak were still there, still hurting him. 

— “Have you ever been to Wisconsin?” 

Steve turned again, his eyes harsh despite the icy blue in them. A hateful look was in his eyes. “What?” 

“Well…” The man continued, his dark hair ruffling against the chilly breeze coming through, “…they have some of the coldest winters around.” 

Steve was starting to block him out, he was becoming a true nuisance. 

“I used to go ice fishing with my father…ice fishing is where you—

“I know what ice fishing is!” Steve snapped, scoffing as he shook his head in irritation. 

“Sorry…” Raising his hands in half apology, “You just seem…like more of a guy who doesn’t get his hands dirty…Anyway, I uh fell through some thin ice. And I’m telling you…water that cold, like right down there…it hits you like a thousand knives stabbing you all over your body.” He sighed, as if he was remembering the event, “You can’t breathe. You can’t think. ‘Least not about anything but the pain.” The man was just beside Steve now, his arm resting on the railing and he looked down into he water.  
“So…I’m really not looking forward to jumping in there after you.” Noticing Steve’s eyes on him, he proceeded through, removing his second coat. Leaving only his shirt and suspenders, “Like I said, I don't have a choice.” 

There was a quiet moment and they looked over one another for a moment. This man was truly trying to help someone he didn’t even know and Steve felt another tear fall down his face. 

“…I guess I’m kind of hoping you’ll come back over the rail and get me off the hook here.” 

“You’re crazy.” Steve looked the man over bewildered by his behavior and words. 

“That’s what everybody says, but…with all due respect, sir…” He almost whispered, leaning in, “…I’m not the one hanging off the back of a ship here.” He gently slid his hand out just by Steve’s elbow for him to see, “Come on…Give me your hand…You don’t want to do this.” 

Letting out a shaking breath, Steve gradually let go of the railing with one hand, turning back as he did it, his hand slid into the man’s, grasping the warmth of it firmly. Facing him, the man whistled as if to let out his own stress. 

“I’m Bucky Barnes.” He half smiled, relieved. 

 

“Steven Grant Rogers.” Steve smiled back, still on edge to communicate properly. 

Still holding his hand, Bucky chuckled, “I’ll have to get you to write that one down.” 

They both laughed despite the stress leaving Bucky now and the tears drying to Steve’s face. They both had returned from what could have been much worse. 

“Come on.” Bucky urged, wanting Steve up and over the railing and safe. Sliding his arm under him, Steve lifted himself slowly, but the slickness of his shoe slipped against the dew covered bars and whatever had been beneath him was gone when gravity took hold and he was suddenly dangling by his arms, one of his hands still locked onto the railing and the other in Bucky’s possession. 

He cried out, pleading almost “Please!” 

— “Hey! I got you,” Grunting, struggling to keep hold of himself and not go over as well, he pulled against Steve’s weight, “Come on, pull yourself up!” 

Gasping for air, scared for his life, he took hold tightly to Bucky and the ship pulling himself upward. His shoe hooked onto the railing this time around and he started to come over onto the deck, but his hand slipped free and smashed into the light fixture on the pole, knocking it lose sent it flying across the deck. The oil was on fire and began a small flame in the area where it lay broken in pieces. 

Bucky had caught him by his shoulder now and yanked with all his might to bring him up and over the rails. Amongst this, there seemed to be commotion behind them, no doubt had someone heard. With a great tumble and collapse, Steve was aboard officially, Bucky landing atop of him as they both panted in need for air. Reaching a moment of rest, the two looked over one another, eye-to-eye one taking in the person who had saved them from suicide and the other looking to a person that nearly gave up on life itself. 

“What’s all this?!” 

Several of the crewman rushed over to stop the small fire of burning oil on the deck and another jabbed a sharp finger toward Bucky saying something to the man beside him. Taking in the sight of Steve’s shoe now missing from his foot and Bucky's boots off his feet, things could only assume to have been a robbery. Now with his gold watch just beside them and his coat, a small cut ran up Steve’s arm from his encounter with the lamp, they could have just thought up that Bucky had attacked Steve in attempt to take whatever he could to sell it.

“You stand back! And don't move an inch!” The man was a sure know-it-all, the way he turned back to the other men boasting, “Fetch the Master at Arms,” He commanded. 

************************ *************************** *************************** *****************

 

Bucky rolled his eyes as he stood in his place, his hands sliding into his pockets and he kept his eyes on the deck for a moment. Til a few men from the dinning table were arriving with Mr. Abbott, along with the Master at Arms. Soon enough he was in handcuffs, two men in law office coats holding onto his arms with sheer brute force and uncalled for comments. 

Mr Abbott began to belittle him, talking down to him as if he were any different than the other men who had accompanied him from the party for show. 

“And just how did you think you could rob my Son-in-Law! Look at me you filth!” He exclaimed, gripping Bucky by his shirt when his eyes wondered toward Steve sitting on a nearby bench, the two men trying to treat the cut up his arm. 

“Jeffery!” Steve interrupted Mr. Abbott calling him by his first name, there was no possible way he could summon ‘father’ from his lips. “It was an accident!” Steve concluded.  
“….An accident…” Mr. Abbott almost scoffed, a look coming to his face as if he wanted to slap Steve silly for such a conclusion of the event having took place. 

“Y-yes…” Steve stood from the bench, breaking free of the men aiding him, the bandage not even properly fastened to his wound yet. “It was. Stupid, really…” 

Bucky was silent now, he couldn’t bring about that he had saved Steve from suicide, there’s no telling where they would put him for that. He simply eyed Steve over now, trying to follow the lie that was about to be told to save both their asses. 

“I was leaning over and I slipped.” Steve began, scrambling for words now. 

Tilting his head forward as if to insist Steve be out with it before the others caught on, his brow furrowed when Steve looked to him for something to say. 

“I was leaning far over to see the, uh…the…uh, the….uh…” Swirling his finger in the air now, half closing his eyes searching for the word, “the…—

“Propellers?” Mr Abbot added in, his decision about Steve truly coming to disappointment in the behavior. 

“Propellers, and I slipped.” Steve breathed, his voice shaking a bit, but he pushed through his explanation, “And I would have gone overboard but Mr. Barnes here…” His eyes met with Bucky and they both nearly smiled, “…Saved me. And almost went over himself.” 

There was an awkward silence, however Mr. Abbott took control, “You wanted to see the…He wanted to see the propellers!” He laughed, and so did the other men. 

“Like I always say, there is one drink and then there is one drink too many!” One of the men from the party chuckled, his belly bouncing like a bowl of jelly. 

Turning Bucky to face him, the Master at Arms glared with his beady eyes, his mustache pronounced when he spoke with a grumbling bear kind of voice, “Was that the way of it?” 

Bucky looked to all of the eyes on him, especially Steve who looked as if he were pleading with his eyes for him to agree. But all he was holding back was a grin, which stayed hidden when he finally answered, “Yeah. Yeah, that was pretty much it.” 

“Well, the boy’s a hero then.” The man with the round belly announced, raising his wine glass. “Good for you, son. Well done….” 

Unlocking the handcuffs round his wrists, the Master at Arms, put them away into a pouch at his side, moving along with the crew. 

“…So, it’s all’s well and back to our brandy, eh…?” 

They were all leaving now, even as Steve glanced over his shoulder as Mr. Abbott abruptly patted him on the back as if to remove him from the situation with haste, perhaps for his own title. 

“…Perhaps a little something for the boy?” One of the men gave a look to Mr. Abbott, seeing it best to congratulate the boy somehow. 

“Of course.” Mr. Abbot spoke loosely, without care. “Mr. Lovejoy — his righthand man — I think a 20 should do it.” 

Steve shook his head, “You do have more feeling than that towards me? After all I am your Son-in-Law.” 

Mr. Abbott stopped in his tracks, his eyes going down Steve, seeing the need for admiration in the boy. “You’re right. I know just the thing…” Turning to make a few quick steps towards Bucky, who was now putting back on his boots and adjusting his coat. “…Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow evening…to regale our group…with your heroic tale.” 

Bucky didn’t particularly wish to participate for this man, but he would take what he could get. “Sure. Count me in.” 

“Good. It’s settled then.” Turning to walk away, the man with his wine glass beside him as Mr. Abbott grinned, mumbling, “…This should be interesting.” 

Getting last looks at one another, Steve ducked his head, his hand falling over the bandage that was now secured to him. Bucky stood there, his eye catching Mr. Lovejoy removing a cigarette from his pocket case. Giving him a whistle, the man turned back, “Can I…bum a smoke?” 

Holding the case open, Mr. Lovejoy reached out his arm, still not getting too close, he let the boy take two, one Bucky slid behind his ear, the other between his lips. 

“You’ll want to tie those…” Mr. Lovejoy constructed, gesturing to his untied boots, “It’s interesting…the young man slipped so suddenly…and you still had time to remove your jacket and your shoes.” A sneer crossed the man’s face, and Bucky was left unsure of what exactly the man was trying to convey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> || I apologize for my delay on this!! I'm really happy with it and most definitely want to continue it!! There might be typos, I haven't yet edited those out!

**Author's Note:**

> || Thanks for reading!


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